I am just this side of some line, drawn in the dust that’s everywhere in my house, that prevents me from displaying a photo I didn’t take of the house air filter I didn’t change for quite the long time.  You’ll have to trust me when I say it was an impressive sight to behold, if not breathe.  The filter, which I can only presume was still there under the thick dark gray matter that I had likely been breathing moments before, did a helluva job–until a couple of months ago, I’d guess. Then it just sat there collecting dust, so to speak.  If you needed proof that I wasn’t kidding when I wrote in my latest RHOME column that I’m done dealing with my house, this filter would have sealed the deal. 

I’m just glad it didn’t also seal my fate. I’m not planning on giving up on the old joint quite as completely as the unfortunate woman who was reported missing–only to be found recently–months later–dead in her hoarder-heaven home.  I’ll be easy to find. Not far from–perhaps in– the cabinet with all the dark chocolate in it.

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